


A Cactus is Just a Cactus

by kiranerys42



Series: Flowers [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Flowers, Fluff, Humor, Language of Flowers, M/M, Magical Realism, Podfic Welcome, one (1) phallic cactus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24817927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiranerys42/pseuds/kiranerys42
Summary: David and Patrick have a fight. Eventually they make up. Also, there are flowers.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Flowers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795162
Comments: 39
Kudos: 134





	A Cactus is Just a Cactus

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [Every Rose Has its Thorn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20961314). You don't really have to read that one for this one to make sense; you just need to know that this fic takes place in an alternate universe where everything is the same except that David's orgasms are accompanied by symbolic flowers, because... why not.
> 
> This fic is unbeta'd and all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> There's a list of all the flowers featured in this fic and their intended meanings in the end notes.

It all started when Patrick insisted they buy eco-friendly flooring for the store. Patrick’s willing to admit to that, at least—he’s the one who instigated this fight. 

The one thing they agreed on was that the floor in Rose Apothecary needed to change. David wanted to hire Ronnie to refurbish the existing hardwood floors. Or possibly to put in a new floor for them? Patrick wasn’t clear on the details. He just knew that the bamboo floor he’d found online was durable, affordable, and environmentally friendly. But most importantly, they could install it themselves. 

“You just don’t want to deal with Ronnie,” David said; and even as Patrick sputtered out his retort, deep down, he knew David was right.

They didn’t talk much for the rest of the day. They didn’t talk when they got in bed that night, either; they made their apologies with their bodies, kissing and touching as if they were soothing physical wounds instead of emotional ones. 

Patrick had a routine, now, with David’s flowers—he’d pick them up in the morning and put them in a vase on the kitchen table. But this time, when Patrick woke up, the flowers were nowhere to be found. David wasn’t there, either, which was even more strange; David _never_ woke up before Patrick.

When Patrick went into the kitchen, the flowers were in a vase on the table. Patrick had been expecting David’s usual apology flowers—white tulips. But instead, he was greeted by the sight of a very unusual bouquet of… well, there was lavender, and… were those petunias? Patrick wasn’t sure if he wanted to Google the meanings this time or not. 

There was a single white tulip in the middle, though. Patrick tried to cling to that as he went and got himself a bowl of cereal. 

*

Patrick might have been the one who started it, but David was the one who made the situation come to a head. _David_ was the one who decided to hire Ronnie to refurbish their floors without even consulting Patrick. 

“This isn’t in the budget!” Patrick whispered. He wanted to shout, but he couldn’t, because Ronnie was _right there_ , just beyond the curtain on the stockroom door, and the last thing Patrick wanted was for her to hear him and David fighting.

“It is _absolutely_ in the budget. You’re not the only one capable of reading a spreadsheet, you know.”

“David.” Patrick couldn’t help but speak a bit more loudly, but he still tried to keep his voice calm. “You’re not the one in charge of the bookkeeping.”

“And you’re not the one in charge of creative decisions!” David clearly did not share Patrick’s commitment to keeping this quiet. “You don’t place enough value on the store’s aesthetic.”

“The store’s aesthetic won’t _matter_ if we go out of business—”

“You’re exaggerating—”

“No, I’m _not_ , did you even _look_ at the three-year projections—”

“No one will want to _shop_ here in three years if this place looks like a fucking _barn_ , we might as well move into Mutt’s—”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous, David,” Patrick snapped.

David’s eyebrows shot upward, and Patrick could immediately tell he’d made a mistake.

“I mean—”

“Oh, no, I’m done here,” David said. “Apparently I’m being _ridiculous_.”

“David, I—”

“Mm-mm, nope. Ronnie!” David shouted as he walked through the door. “Deal’s off.”

“Damn shame,” Ronnie said. “You know I can’t give you that deposit back.”

“You paid her a _deposit_!?” Patrick yelled.

“You’d better come out here if you want to talk to me, Brewer,” Ronnie yelled back.

In the back of his mind, Patrick tried to crunch the numbers as he and Ronnie talked. David just stood there watching, his arms crossed, his presence somehow deafeningly loud even as he was completely silent. As Patrick got through his mental calculations, he concluded that even with the loss of the deposit, the bamboo floor was still more affordable, especially considering how durable it was. It was clearly the right choice.

 _It’s the right choice for the store_ , Patrick told himself as they ate dinner in silence. _It’s a financially sound decision_ , he thought, glancing at his reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. And _David will come around; he’ll get over it, he just needs time_ , was what he used to lull himself to sleep, alone on the couch.

Patrick didn’t expect that he’d be sleeping on the couch again the following night, too. 

On the third night, David let him have the bed.

“I know the couch fucks up your back, and I don’t want you to be so sleep-deprived you can’t function at work,” David said matter-of-factly as he settled in on the couch with more than half the pillows from their bedroom and the good blanket.

The next day, Patrick noticed a single yellow-and-white striped carnation in a vase on the kitchen table. He raised an eyebrow at David over breakfast—it was unusual for David to have flowers unless he was with Patrick when he… well. They didn’t always happen when David was alone. But David didn’t say anything about it, so neither did Patrick.

Over the next few days, the flowers continued. More of those same yellow-and-white striped carnations, and some more petunias; one day, there was simply a single yellow chrysanthemum, which made Patrick sad for reasons he couldn’t quite understand until he Googled the meaning. 

Perhaps the most frustrating thing about seeing the flowers each day was the effect they had on Patrick’s libido. Normally, a lovely bouquet in the morning would be a welcome reminder of what he and David were up to the night before. But now it was just a symbol of… Patrick’s not even sure what. David’s new routine of a lonely, angry jerk-off session in the shower each morning? Patrick didn’t even understand how David was in the mood for that. They were _fighting_ , which shouldn’t be a turn-on. At least, that’s what Patrick told himself when he felt that little shiver and rush of heat at the sight of the flowers each morning. He’s _angry_ at David, and there’s nothing sexy about that. Nothing at all.

Frankly, Patrick suspected David was doing this whole thing with the flowers purely out of spite, to try to get a reaction out of him. So he vowed not to say anything.

But after a few days of this, on their day off, he sat down at the kitchen table and was greeted by a sight he couldn’t ignore. David was outside checking the mail, so Patrick sat at the table and waited, slowly sipping his tea. 

When David came back inside, Patrick gestured for him to sit down. “David, we need to talk.”

David sat down across from him, steadfastly ignoring the thing sitting on the table between them.

“Did you—okay. First of all. You didn’t—”

“No, I didn’t _make_ the pot. You know it’s just flowers. Well, and sometimes—um, like, the whole plant. The pot was in the garage with the other gardening supplies. And I took some soil from the garden.”

“Okay. So, next question—”

“Please tell me you didn’t have to Google this one.”

“Nope, I think the meaning of cactus is pretty obvious. I am confused, however, about the—you know. The general…um…”

David pressed his lips together. 

“The shape of it,” Patrick settled on. “It’s kind of—you know.”

David didn’t respond. Patrick knew what he was doing; he wanted to make Patrick say it. Knowing this didn’t make it any easier.

“It looks like a dick,” he finally said.

David crossed his arms and nodded. “And?”

“So…this means…”

“Yes, I think you’re being a dick, and also I miss your dick, so I want you to stop _being_ one,” David said. “Anything else?”

“Yes, just one more thing,” Patrick said. “Why is your cactus dick ejaculating a single orange flower?”

They stared at each other for a long moment, then both burst out laughing. Somehow, laughter turned into kissing, and kissing turned into… 

They didn’t quite make it to the bedroom. They barely made it out of the kitchen, in fact. It was quick and frantic, and over too soon, and somehow both too much and not nearly enough. Once they finished, they sat next to each other on the couch, panting; Patrick's t-shirt was lost somewhere on the other side of the room, and his pants were around his ankles. David had managed to get his pants off all the way, at least, but he's left his socks on, which _never_ happened. 

Once Patrick caught his breath, he began looking around for David’s flowers. He tried to be subtle, but… 

“Here,” David said, thrusting his hand out. In it, he held a small bouquet; a couple white tulips, which was a very good sign, but also daffodils, and… was that amaryllis? Patrick was pretty sure it was amaryllis.

“Thanks,” he replied, taking the bouquet from David. “Um—I’m sorry, too. We can… if it’s really that important to you. We can hire Ronnie. I didn’t order the bamboo floor yet.”

“I know,” David said. “I would’ve seen the confirmation email if you had.”

“Right. Well. I mean—we can find a way to afford it.”

“Oh, no,” David replied. “If you’re _absolutely_ sure we can’t afford it, we should get the bamboo floor.”

“Oh.” Patrick wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t expected this. “Well, in that case—”

“But only if you’re _sure_.” David got up and began collecting his clothes from where they were strewn around the room. “You should probably check your email before making any decisions.”

“Um. Okay, sure. Why—” But David was already out of the room by the time Patrick started to get his question out.

Patrick gathered up his clothes, got dressed, and sat back down on the couch with his laptop. He opened up his Gmail account to see he had an email from—Alexis? Why did Alexis email him?

He opened up the attachment, an Excel spreadsheet simply called ‘budget.xlsx’ When he opened up the file, he was greeted with a much lengthier title:

**The Long-Overdue Rose Apothecary Flooring Refurbishment Budget**  
_by Alexis Rose: Freelance Budget Consultant and Spreadsheet Aestheticist_

Patrick sighed, rolled his shoulders back, and settled in to read through the spreadsheet. It looked… long, and involved, and much more colorful than he was used to.

Forty-five minutes later, he’d gotten through the whole thing; there were parts he’d even gone over multiple times, trying to find a mistake, because surely there had to be one. But no—Alexis had achieved what Patrick had been utterly _convinced_ was impossible: she’d shown that the new floor project David had been insisting on all along… was in the budget. They could afford it. 

Okay, so maybe Alexis’s consulting fee had put them a _little_ over budget. But David wouldn’t have even _needed_ to pay that fee if Patrick had just listened to him in the first place.

Patrick closed his laptop and went looking for David. It took him a few minutes, but he finally found David in the bedroom, laying on top of their freshly-made bed and reading a book.

“Hey,” Patrick said, sitting down next to David. “I got Alexis’s email.”

“Oh?” David said. He didn’t look up from his book.

“David, I’m—I’m really sorry.”

David slowly closed his book and set it aside.

“You—um.” Patrick knew he had a hard time admitting he was wrong, but—he was _really_ wrong this time. “You were right.”

“I know,” David said. He didn’t even sound smug about it; just… resigned. “And I, um. I accept your apology.”

Patrick tried to hide his smile. He knew it was just as hard for David to gracefully accept an apology as it was for Patrick to offer one. 

“Although,” he said, trying out a more teasing tone, “you _probably_ still shouldn’t have hired Ronnie without telling me. Even if you were right.”

“Patrick,” David replied, shaking his head as his mouth twisted into a reluctant smile. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Maybe I just really like petunias,” Patrick argued.

“Oh my god,” David said, rolling his eyes. “You are—” But David didn’t get to finish saying what Patrick was, because Patrick interrupted him with a kiss. 

*

“Do you ever wonder what my flowers would be?” Patrick asked as they got in bed that night. 

“Oh, god no, can you imagine? _One_ of us wearing his heart on his sleeve is more than enough,” David said.

“Would you say it’s wearing your heart on your sleeve? Because considering how the flowers happen, it’s more like you’re wearing your heart on your dick. Or like—you’re wearing your flowers on your dick? And your heart on your flowers.”

David had been just about to climb under the covers with Patrick, but he froze, standing beside the bed, one hand holding the bedsheets, the other suspended in midair.

Patrick stared back, blinking innocently.

Finally, David shook his head in exasperation, and slid into bed next to Patrick.

“It’s moments like this that make me wonder why I married you,” David muttered.

“Because I asked _very_ nicely,” Patrick said. “And because you love me.”

Patrick couldn’t quite hear David’s grumbled response, but he didn’t need to.

“I love you too,” he replied.

A few minutes later, David said, “Right now, I think your flowers would be bluebells. But in general, I think—um. Agapanthus, maybe?”

“Agapanthus?” Patrick had no idea what agapanthus even was. If it weren’t for the context of the conversation, he’d have thought it was a rare disease, not a type of flower.

“Mmhm. Agapanthus,” David repeated, sounding more confident.

 _Agapanthus_ , Patrick thought as he dozed off, trying to make sure he’d remember the name to look it up in the morning. _Agapanthus_.

The next day, the internet told Patrick that bluebells symbolize humility, which—okay, that was fair. Harsh, but fair. But more importantly, he found out that agapanthus literally meant _love flower_. 

As a result of David’s whole… situation, with flowers, Patrick had never really felt right buying flowers for him. But now that he’d gotten the idea into his head, he had to follow through. 

It cost a lot of money and a drive all the way to Elm Valley, but a few days later, Patrick snuck out of bed early to put out the bouquet he’d hidden in the garage the night before.

He only had to wait a half hour before David got up, too, but it felt like an eternity.

“Good morning,” Patrick said, trying and failing to keep the excitement out of his voice.

“Mm,” David grunted. “Did you make—”

“Yes, there’s coffee.”

David didn’t even stop and look at the table as he went to go make his cup of coffee, which was disappointing and frankly a little insulting, because, well, the bouquet was _right there_.

Patrick drummed his fingers on the table impatiently as David made his very complicated coffee. Finally, David joined him at the table, but he still didn’t look up from his coffee.

Patrick cleared his throat.

“What?” David asked blearily, finally looking up. His eyes grew wide when he saw the flowers. “Is that—wait. Those aren’t _mine_.”

“Well, they’re yours, in a sense. I got them for you.”

“You—okay. _Where_ did you find agapanthus? And—” David squinted, and leaned in closer. “Are those _bluebells_?”

“Mmhm,” Patrick said, smirking.

David looked up at Patrick, narrowing his eyes even more. “You don’t _look_ very humble right now,” he said. “Are you sure you didn’t forget the amaryllis?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” he said. “This is exactly the bouquet I meant to get you.”

“Well. Thank you, then.”

After a few minutes, Patrick got up and made them breakfast. They ate their oatmeal and drank their coffee in companionable silence, but Patrick saw that David couldn’t quite keep his eyes off the flowers, and he couldn’t keep from smiling every time he looked at them. 

Patrick couldn’t keep from smiling, either.

**Author's Note:**

> lavender: silence, caution
> 
> petunias: anger, resentment
> 
> white tulips: apology
> 
> yellow-and-white carnation: yellow carnations symbolize rejection and disappointment; white carnations symbolize pure love
> 
> yellow chrysanthemum: neglected love, sorrow
> 
> orange cactus flower: I mean… it’s in the fic 
> 
> daffodils: new beginnings
> 
> amaryllis: pride


End file.
